I Have A Song In My Head And It Isn’t A Good One. { 1 }
From the moment I woke up this morning to pretty much right now as I’m typing this, I have Styx’s Mr. Roboto stuck in my head. Apparently it’s the album version and by album I mean vinyl. And if what’s happening in my head is any indication, the record is skipping. On the chorus no less. Excuse me for a sec…
Double Wattigato, Mr. Roboto, double…doub…Double Wattigato, Mr. Roboto, double…doub…Double Wattigato….
It’s not bad enough that I’ve been singing this all day, but even more pathetic is that, oh, hang on a sec…
Double Wattigato, Mr. Roboto, double…doub…Double Wattigato, Mr. Roboto, double…doub…Double Wattigato….
What I was saying is that, well, let’s just say that I don’t do well with accents. To this day, I can’t watch movies where British, Scottish, Irish or Bostonian accents are prevalent. I just have no idea what anyone is saying, which is usually why my forehead gets lines and my mouth goes huh? Guess you could say the same about Robot. I don’t speak Robot, nor do I want to. Oh, here it comes again…falling on my head like a tragedy, falling on my head like new emotion, kidding, that’s the Eurtyhmics’ Here Comes The Rain Again. What’s really in my head is Double Wattigato, Mr. Roboto, double…doub…Double Wattigato, Mr. Roboto, double…doub…Double Wattigato….
What I was trying to get at, is simply that I’m singing Mr. Roboto all wrong. One quick reference check coutesy of LyricsFreak and I’m immediately taught a valuable lesson. It’s not Double Wattigato, Mr. Roboto, double…but rather Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, Mata ah-oo hima de…
Honestly, that makes about as much sense to me as a Daniel Day Lewis movie.
The moral of this post? The voices inside my head are telling me to buy a Volkswagen.
The Great Boar Hunter
September 25th, 2009, 12:48 am #
You need a diversion to get your head straight. May I suggest a hunting trip or, if you prefer, something a little less violent such as fishing or perhaps just a mellow three day drunk.